Sway (Landry Family #1)(43)
"Ali? Earth to Ali," Lola says, luring me out of my memory. "Am I talking to myself?"
"I'm here."
She snorts. "I think you're still in the quasi-winery. I know I would be. Hell, I kind of am and I haven't even been properly graped."
"I don't know how I'll ever forget that, Lola. It was just erotic. Completely mind-blowing."
"And you got to experience that."
I prop up on my elbows. "Thank God for small favors. Or not small. There's nothing small about him."
"Shut. Up," she sighs. "So when are you seeing him again?"
I pause, trying to figure out how to broach the subject. Apparently it’s too long of a silence because Lola picks right up on it.
“Why do I get a feeling you’re not telling me something huge?”
“I already told you he was huge,” I deflect to the best of my ability.
“You know what I mean. Not talking cock size for once.”
“We agreed to take things slowly,” I state as simply as possible.
“Whoa!” Something crashes in the background, the sound of bottles being knocked against tile. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Sighing, I brace myself. “If you think that means I’m dating, for a lack of a better word, the mayor, then yes. It does.”
“What happened to you over the last twelve hours? You call me on the way to work, all sobbing about Huxley going fishing. Then you call me and just got a grape sucked out of your hoohah and are dating the most eligible bachelor in the country?”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” I laugh, unable to believe it myself. Every time I think about it, I automatically try to panic. Yet the worry doesn’t come. It just feels like I’m where I should be.
“What happened to separation of hearts and vaginas? Not that I’m against this by any means. Hell, you’ve taken my retirement plan to a whole new level . . .”
“That’s not what this is,” I warn.
“No, I know it’s not. You’re not like that, like me,” she points out. “And that’s a good thing, I think. But what changed your mind?”
The moon shines through the window, illuminating my cherry-colored bedspread. She asked the million dollar question and I fight for a million dollar answer.
“Him.”
“And that means?”
How do I explain that, besides the fame and the fortune and the political connection, he’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of?
“I mean, he’s amazing. And I realize I’m just scared by all the outer trappings, and only because of what I’ve gone through before. I just think it’s worth it to see if it works. And if it doesn’t . . . I guess I’ll figure out a way to survive. I did before.”
“That’s my girl! I knew you had it in you. Maybe you had to literally have it in you to have it in you.”
I laugh, her antics impossible. “Just remind me of this when I’m crying on your shoulder.”
“What about the media? What about Hux?”
“Everything should be fine if we just play it cool. Stay hidden. And if he wins the election, I guess we’ll see what happens,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. My stomach twists at the idea, but I force it away. I’m focusing on the good. “And if he doesn’t, it’ll be easier to navigate.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. “Hey, my mom is calling. I need to grab it in case something’s wrong with Huxley.”
“Go. Just know I’m proud of you, Ali!”
“Thanks, Lo. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Barrett
The lights are off in the cabana, but the solar lights are still burning along the path leading to it. The grounds are quiet and everyone is gone but me.
My briefcase is open on the desk. Swiping a file, the edges worn from looking at it so many times over the last month, I plop back on the bed I use when I stay here and look at it again.
I try to zero in on the words, but my mind keeps going to Alison. I’m not sure what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into, only that this is the first time in a very long time I’ve felt like I just made the right decision. My decision. A decision unmarred by suggestions and requests from everyone around me.
Even though we’re keeping it quiet, I know shit will hit the fan if it becomes public knowledge. Nolan will be furious. My father disappointed. Graham, the most trusted voice out of them all, will think it’s wrong.
I don’t care.
If I think about it long enough, I realize that my lack of concern does, in fact, concern me. Their points are right. This could be a big fuck-up for my campaign. There are a million ways this could go wrong. So why am I not more anxious about this new relationship?
I have no fucking idea.
All I know is that there’s a little peace in my stomach, a little levity in my step that I don’t want to let go.
In a world of stress and assholes, a life of planned moves and compromises, she’s the purest deal. The only person that just wants me. She looks at me and sees straight through to who I am on the inside, without the name, the looks, the smile, or influence I can flash and get my way.
I can’t let that go. Regardless of what they say.
My phone rings and I grab it. I see my mother’s name on the screen. Immediately, I smile and answer. “Hey, Mom.”